


Mayfair

by GrrraceUnderfire



Series: Coming of Age: Peter Newkirk's Journey [3]
Category: Hogan's Heroes (TV 1965)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Daddy Issues, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Insecurity, Missing Scene, Platonic Cuddling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:21:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24999013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrrraceUnderfire/pseuds/GrrraceUnderfire
Summary: Peter Newkirk wasn’t good at asking for what he wanted. His surrogate father helped him learn how, and to accept that he wasn’t wrong to have needs. He was just making up for lost time.A missing scene that fits after Chapter 49 in “A Minor Problem.”
Relationships: Robert Hogan & Peter Newkirk
Series: Coming of Age: Peter Newkirk's Journey [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1786459
Comments: 9
Kudos: 10





	Mayfair

He let himself into Colonel Hogan's office late that night when everyone was asleep. The Colonel wasn't; he knew that from the dim light shining through the cracks. He was at his table in shirtsleeves, writing a letter. Catching up. He probably couldn't sleep either.

"Peter," Hogan said, looking up and smiling. "You should be in bed."

"I couldn't stay asleep." In his socks and oversized nightshirt, his hair tousled and damp with sleep, Peter looked cranky, tired and frail.

Hogan put down his pen and turned. "Too much on your mind?" Peter nodded. Yes, exactly. "Alright, come sit."

He sat on a stool at the Colonel's desk, feeling the anxiety easing slightly. Moments earlier, lying in bed, he had been gripped by a need he couldn't name. He tried fumbling with himself, but he was too tired. He pressed his thumb into the corner of his mouth, but dropped it when he heard LeBeau in his head, reminding him that he was getting too big for that.

He needed a way to calm down and he knew whose help he wanted. Needed.

Hogan was looking at him quizzically, then laid a hand on his forearm. "Everything OK? Today was a lot to take in, wasn't it?" he asked.

"For you too, Sir?"

"Yes. I'd been trying to make sense of that memory for years," Hogan said. "That little boy..."

"Me," Peter said, smiling as warmth spread in his belly. Then his face darkened and he bit his lip.

"What is it, Peter?" Hogan asked softly. He gripped his arm tighter.

Peter didn't know how to answer. He remembered the whoosh of being swung up into a stranger's arms, his legs straddling a man's waist, little hands on a broad chest, exploring his lapels. He remembered the shiny captains bars, how cool and smooth they felt, the excitement of working them loose. He remembered the warm brown eyes studying him, the curl of an approving smile on the man's lips. He remembered breathing in rain and the sweat of a brisk morning walk. He remembered wanting to lay his head on that shoulder and keep breathing.

He remembered wanting HIM. Again and again, in his daydreams and night dreams. And now, here he was. But Peter was too big now. He couldn’t want to be held like that. He couldn’t need it.

He said it anyway, because it was true and now he always told the truth to Colonel Hogan.

"I should never have said 'put me down,' because I wanted you to pick me up and not let me go everyday after that," he said softly.

“Yes, you told me,” Hogan replied. “I wish I hadn’t let you go.” He stood and moved closer, wrapping his arms around his Corporal from behind. Peter leaned his head back into his chest as Hogan stroked his cheek. Hogan was generous and unabashed with his touch, like he knew his men—but most of all, Peter—drew strength from contact. Now he was even more giving. Because Peter was not just his soldier. He was his charge. His ward. His boy.

Peter sighed his relief. He hadn’t had to spell it out; Hogan understood. He saw his needs and wasn’t put off. Even if Peter felt like a stupid baby for needing his touch, Hogan was prepared to give it.

"I'm right here now if you need me," Hogan said. "You just say the word."

"Mayfair," Peter said.

"Mayfair?" Hogan repeated.

"That's the word. That means I need you."

Hogan dropped his hands and leaned on the table, facing Peter, their eyes at the same level.

"Tell me what you mean by that," he said.

"Sometimes I just ache all over," Peter said. "I can't calm down. But if you hold me..." He smiled a little as Hogan stroked his cheek.

"I think I understand. Come sit on the bunk with me," Hogan said, pulling him by his hands.

Hogan sat down first, then patted his lap. "Right here."

Peter held back, shifting on his feet, mortified. No, he couldn’t possibly. He felt himself flushing and gulping at what the Colonel was suggesting.

"I'm too big."

"Just once. You need this,” Hogan said calmly.

Peter stood, hesitating, shaking his head. “I can’t.”

“You can. I’ll hold you,” Hogan replied.

Oh, he wanted to. But he oughtn’t. Shouldn’t. Couldn’t. He was a man, almost eighteen.

“You’re safe with me,” Hogan said. 

Peter bit his lip, then nodded and settled onto Hogan’s lap. He tried to get comfortable. 

"Put your head on my shoulder. It's alright."

"Did your dad ever hold you like this?" Peter asked as he snuggled in.

"All the time when I was small," Hogan replied. "Did yours?"

Peter shook his head against Hogan's shoulder. He didn’t want to look him in the eye. He felt a broad hand on his waist, then felt a strong arm close tightly around him.

"Then I'll do it. We’ll get you caught up on having a dad who loves you."

"Because you're my dad now," Peter said, finally daring to gaze up. A warm pair of dark brown eyes met his, a curl of a smile beginning.

"Yes. I'm your dad," Hogan replied. “I’ll take care of you. Just relax.”

Peter closed his eyes, rested, melted. Hogan held him tight, and Peter could feel his panic subsiding. When he felt warm and safe enough, Peter slid out of Hogan's lap and curled up beside him. "I need this," he said, embarrassed. "I shouldn't, but I do," 

"'Should or shouldn’t doesn't enter into it. You just do," Hogan said softly. “It’s OK. It can be private between us. A father holding his long-lost son. Until you feel secure. You won’t always need me like this, but you need me now.”

Peter looked up, studying his face for the punch line, then recognized that none was forthcoming. "Mayfair," Peter repeated.

"That's the word. Anytime." Hogan smiled and pulled him closer. His boy.


End file.
